


A Voiceless Song in an Ageless Light

by rivlee



Series: No Dominion [9]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 20:12:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s time to welcome the spring. Part of the <i>No Dominion</i> ‘verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Voiceless Song in an Ageless Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brandedwithfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brandedwithfire/gifts).



> **Author’s Note 1/Warning:** There are religious ceremonies referred to in this work. Elill was a Corybante of Cybele but even before that was dedicated as a child to Ishtar. Both worships did, as far as we know, involve sacred prostitution and aspects of that are referred to in this fic. However, not knowing the _actual_ ceremonies, it’s very much hand-wavy history herein.
> 
>  **Author’s Note 2:** Title from Loreena McKennitt’s _The Mystic’s Dream_. For Sarah (brandedwithfireandtears) who begged for some Duro/Elill.

The bonfires cackled inside their stone rings as the sounds of flutes played. The spring celebrations were some of Duro’s favorites. It was still too cool of a night to spend it outside for long but that had never stopped any of his kin. 

Agron and Nasir were already lost to too much dance and drink. Agron lay sprawled out with his head in Nasir’s lap. He drunkenly bellowed and sang one of the many songs welcoming the coming of new life. Nasir’s head was titled back and resting against one of the wooden posts. He had his fingers locked with Agron and they were clearly lost to their own world as one of the young goats burrowed into the warm space between them.

Gerlind was leading the flute players and watching Iodocus who was learning a dance from the children. That was a whole round of trouble Duro refused to step in until the dawn of summer. It would be easier to help Iodocus run from Agron once the fields were clear of snow.

“Where is your shield-mate?” Freya asked. Her gray braids were tied back from her face. She looked years younger in the fire’s light.

“Elill prepares for his ceremonies tonight. He will come to us soon.”

“He was here for the blessing, yes?” Freya asked.

Duro nodded. “And partook in the passing of mead. He should emerge shortly to see the end of this night with his own beliefs.”

“And you go with him?”

Duro tried to hide his grin. “It is no hardship to help with the participation.”

Freya pointed to the far side of the gathering. “He comes.”

It was not uncommon for many to stop and watch Elill just walk among the others. He was a graceful creature in all things, even half-awake and bellowing at Iodocus to catch the lost sheep or cursing Agron, Duro, and the goat’s gate. Tonight was no exception, wearing a deep green robe with bronze thread woven throughout, catching the light with each deliberate step; he looked like a young god among them. 

“Yes, I can imagine it is no hardship,” Freya said. 

Elill approached them without word and held out his hand. He did not have to compel Duro to take it. The whole night Duro had been waiting for this; to watch Elill complete his own worship. Duro could see the glint of the bells tied around Elill’s ankles and wrists. How he moved without making them ring would forever baffle Duro. 

“Enjoy,” Freya called after them.

Duro laughed at her while Elill gave her a truly flirtatious wink.

“Should I be worried?” Duro asked.

Elill kissed the top of Duro’s head. “Assuredly,” he teased.

He led them deeper into the woods, closer to the water, far away from the others. The air was sweet here, carrying the soothing smell of freshly turned earth. Elill guided Duro to one of the tree stumps and left him there. No words now, no kisses or embraces, it was time to watch instead. 

Elill dropped his robe and exposed himself to the cool night air. It stole Duro’s breath to see his bare skin shining under the stars. Familiar swirls were painted on his body. It was a dye made of ash that would not last as long as the one he wore in Capua. Elill claimed it was enough, though, to get him through his ceremonies. He forbade Duro from even contemplating a possible trip to the Southeast to replenish stocks. 

Duro, Agron, and all the clan knew that if he asked it of him, Duro would march right back to Rome for Elill, consequences be damned. Elill would never, ever ask it though. No matter how often he worried about Solon and the others still stuck in Capua; no matter how often he contemplated writing a letter and sending it with the traders; Elill would never bring such risk to their home. It was a thing that made him beloved by the Elders. Nasir and Iodocus were equally indulged and cared for by all with their bumbling ways of adjusting to life here. Elill was just the proper student eagerly learning the tales and legends of the sky, water, and wood. The Elders always adored such folk. 

Elill’s hair was completely unbound now, bronze and silver hair clips carefully laid atop the robe. His hair fell past his ass stopping at the start of his thighs. He looked like a forest spirit. He made Duro’s pulse race in a way that had little to do with arousal and all to do with honor and pride. To be allowed to see Elill like this, bare in a way that had nothing to do with adornments, was a privilege Duro still couldn’t comprehend that he had earned.

The soft tinkling of bells rang out in the air as Elill began his first dance. This set of movements was just for Elill’s gods. Duro was nothing but an outside observer here, as Elill turned his back to him. He chanted words in a tongue even older than Aramaic. He danced in a specific pattern and Duro knew, come morning, the outline of Ishtar’s star would stand in the dirt from the work of Elill’s feet. 

Elill made Duro promise that if he ever felt uncomfortable watching him worship, if he ever decided he couldn’t partake in his role to please Ishtar, he would tell Elill. Duro didn’t care much for any gods but he loved Elill, and loving Elill meant understanding that sometimes he had to make his own form of sacrifice to a goddess of fertility. And war, as Elill had explained. To them, love went with war, fertility with death, everything in cycle and balance. Duro could think of no better goddess for Elill’s dedication. It was the least Duro could do to help Elill see the life he should have had. Elill should’ve been raised somewhere in Syria. He should’ve been stationed in an actual temple along the riverside performing as an ordained priest to his goddess. Instead he was here, near the borders of Jutland, performing the closest mockery of a ceremony for a faith he still clung to. 

Elill finished the first set of steps and moved to the second. This was the time for Duro’s pulse to jump. He had no shame about enjoying the view, reveling in the movements of Elill’s body. This was meant to entice, to seduce, to cloud Duro’s mind as his ears filled with the delicate sound of the bells; his nose with the scent of sweat and rose oil coming from Elill’s skin; his eyes fixed on each subtle twist and turn of Elill’s body. Duro understood his role in this, a reenactment of a myth. Elill represented Ishtar, while Duro one of her lovers; it all spoke to renewal and rebirth for the spring. 

Elill finished his second set and deliberately stepped out of the pattern. He walked over to a rock beside his robes and uncovered two small pots. Duro knew one contained oil but he was unsure of the other. Elill placed both in strategic points of the star before resuming his place in the center. He held out his hand to Duro again and, as before, Duro followed the silent command. Duro carefully managed to discern the pattern lines in the moonlight and stepped over each with care. He was rewarded with a large smile and a deep kiss from Elill. 

“Are you certain?” Elill asked after he pulled back. 

Duro cupped Elill’s cheeks and brushed a kiss across his nose. A childish but caring act meant to break the tension. Elill asked each time and each time Duro’s answer was the same.

“I will always say yes,” Duro said.

“You do not have to; it would not offend me,” Elill said.

“I would not have you do this with another,” Duro growled.

Elill ran a soothing hand down Duro’s chest. “I would never think it. I would follow my own personal sacrifice as I have done in the years before you.”

Duro couldn’t help his smirk. “The glorious experience that must’ve been between you and your hand.” He gasped as Elill took hold of his cock through the cloth of his breeches. Duro keened as he leaned into the hold, cursing the fingers that teased him.

“You were saying?” Elill asked.

“Fuck the gods,” Duro muttered.

Elill laughed. “There is no hope for you, Duro. It must always be you, though. I would have no other. Even if I were to perform this rite to its specifications, I would have your uncle, as the leader, under me.”

“I prefer this variation.”

“As do we both.”

Elill bent and produced one of the dishes. “Drink this,” he ordered.

He took the first sip and was surprised to find it was only water from the river. Still cool but not what he expected. He was just finishing when Elill tugged the tie on Duro’s breeches free and motioned for him to step out. Duro did and Elill took both dish and clothing and placed them to the side. 

Duro flinched as a cool breeze passed by. He didn’t know if it was the gods showing their favor and he little cared as Elill’s hands again rested on Duro’s skin. He pulled Duro forward and they both knelt down. Duro knew his part now. He would represent mortality, the earth, and the spark for new life. Elill would be the stars, the everlasting, that which helped bring the rebirth with rains from the sky. It was a complicated set of myths with names Duro still struggled to remember, but he knew Ishtar as well as he knew Freyr. 

The air smelled like almonds from the oil. It was a luxury rarely used and only left for the most special of occasions. Neither of them was unwilling to submit to the other; theirs was always a relationship of balance, but things changed on this night. Duro still preferred Elill’s weight on top of him, pushing down onto and inside him. He loved the feel of Elill’s hair teasing him with each pass and press; craved that feeling of safety, protection, contentment. He thrived under the power of Elill’s hands. Tonight Elill would still be on top of him but moving with Duro inside. It would leave them both aching and sore in the morning, but it was one of the many sacrifices for this night they willingly made.

Duro had to close his eyes to sight of Elill before him. This would be over before he started if he had to watch Elill prepare himself. This hitch in Elill’s breathing alone was enough to cause Duro’s hands to clench. 

“Ready?” Elill rasped out.

Duro just nodded his head. He forced his hands to stay at his side as Elill sank down on him. He didn’t know who groaned the loudest, but Duro was fairly certain it was him.

“Duro,” Elill said, “please open your eyes.”

He did at once and met the mischievous golden gaze above him. Even in the lowlight he could trace the dark drawn lines of ash around Elill’s eyelids. He was so otherworldly like this, far from the teacher and healer. Wild, like Duro had asked him to live, out here, in the woods, far removed from the touch of Rome, or Syria, or whoeverthefuck would try and steal Elill away.

“There you are,” Elill said. He bent his head down for a kiss and Duro eagerly met him. 

He resisted sinking his hand into Elill’s hair for a full three minutes. Now he gathered a handful and pulled Elill closer. Duro almost lost control at the sound of Elill’s stuttering, broken gasp as their movements caused Duro to buck up inside him. Duro pulled back and bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to distract himself. Elill’s hands pressed down on Duro’s chest, keeping him there as he started this, the third and last dance of the night.

Duro knew he shouldn’t look up, that he should leave this part to Elill, Ishtar, and all the spirits around them. He couldn’t help himself. Elill moved on top of him, body withering in a specific pattern known only in Elill’s mind. His head was tilted back; the ends of his hair brushing Duro’s kneecaps, and his eyes faced the stars as strains of prayers flowed from his lips.

A moment, just a moment longer, and then it would be time for Duro’s part. Elill took a shuddering breath and lowered his head. He met Duro’s gaze, fingers reaching out to trace the smile on Duro’s lips, and nodded. Duro kissed his fingers then placed Elill’s hand lower, over the scar on his side. Duro’s own hand then went to Elill’s hips and gripped them tight before settling just above the swell of Elill’s ass. He braced his feet and then shoved up once, as hard as he could.

Elill’s broken, joyful cry nearly undid him on the spot. 

Duro’s stamina was never the best on normal nights, not when his desire for Elill always burned just under the surface. Tonight had been its own long seduction and even Elill seemed eager for its ends. His fingers dug deeper and deeper into Duro’s skin with each push. He’d bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. Another part of the ritual Elill tired, and often failed, to observe. Silence, or as close to it as possible. It was of some import to him, to counteract all the noise of ritual under Cybele. 

Duro slowed his thrusts and trailed a hand over the curve of Elill’s hips, lingering fingers on the tattoo of Ishtar’s star, before tickling the strip of skin where thigh met groin. Elill jumped in surprise and a soft laugh escaped him. He stopped Duro’s hand before it could reach its goal.

“No, just you,” Elill commanded. 

“You’re torturing yourself this way,” Duro said. 

“I have faith in you to complete this—” Elill’s words were lost as he pitched forward under the power of Duro’s sudden rapid and hard thrusts.

He may not have the best stamina in the clan but Duro well knew how to see a task completed quickly. 

***********************

The squawking of a bird woke him to early morning light. Duro turned his head to meet Elill’s warm lips. 

“Do you think she was pleased?” Duro asked.

“We still live,” Elill teased. 

Duro pouted when he realized Elill’s hair was wet and he was cleaned of all traces from last night. He always liked to offer assistance.

Elill smiled. “I figured I would help you wash this time,” he said. His fingers traced over the scar on Duro’s side. “I fear I’ve made a mess of you.”

Duro sat up and looked over himself. There was the expected dirt from a romp out in the woods but there was even more to clean than usual. The ash paint from Elill’s skin had smudged thanks to the oil, sweat, and their movements. Duro’s skin now carried traces of it, dusty impression of swirled patterns that Elill kept tracing with his fingers. 

“I thank the gods for permitting me another spring with you. Our third.”

“Fourth,” Duro corrected. “I came to you before the start of summer.”

Elill nuzzled Duro’s neck. “Let us see you clean. We’ll take care of your demanding goats and then, I foresee a day of rest.”

He moved to stand and Duro tugged him back down. “I say we bask in the gods’ gift of a warm spring morning first.”

Faith was thing Duro still only placed in worldly men and women. He liked this though, simple things out among the trees he loved. And the gods surely knew he’d do anything to see that content look forever in Elill’s eyes. Duro would always follow this type of worship.


End file.
